Dorothy frowned. Apparently she had no thoughts on the subject, and did not wish to be disturbed.
“Do I what, Lucile? What’s the matter, anyway?”
Her tone was petulant and not conducive to conversation; but poor Lucile was desperate.
“Do you think it’s fair for me to have to write an oration on the Pilgrim Fathers? I don’t know anything about them, Dorothy. Besides, I’m most all French; and I don’t know how to start an oration, anyway!”
“Why, of course, it’s fair enough. The others all have to. Why not you? No one’s to blame because you’re French.”
“But the rest don’t all have to,” persisted the injured Lucile, while Dorothy began again to read. “The Blackmore twins were allowed to take Ethan Allen, because he’s their ancestor; and Miss Wallace told Virginia she could write on the Pioneers. Who are the Pioneers, Dorothy?”
“Search me!” Dorothy was in a forbidding temper. Of late even her devotion to Miss Wallace had not made her “angelic” to her room-mate.
Lucile chewed her pen-stock savagely. Something must be done. Study hour was nearly over, and Dorothy would be on her way to tennis or the “Forget-me-not.” She would try once more.
“Dorothy?”
“Well!”